


Be My Valentine #IneffableValentines2020 prompt 14

by GayDemonicDisaster (scrapheapchallenge)



Series: Ineffable Valentines 2020 [14]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: #ineffableValentines2020, 6000 Years of Pining (Good Omens), Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Caring Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), M/M, Soft Crowley (Good Omens), Valentines, ineffable valentines
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-14
Updated: 2020-02-14
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:41:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22501141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scrapheapchallenge/pseuds/GayDemonicDisaster
Summary: Ever wondered what was in that box on Crowley’s red marble desk? I did, and Aziraphale does too…
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Ineffable Valentines 2020 [14]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1618783
Comments: 42
Kudos: 114
Collections: Ineffable Valentines 2020





	Be My Valentine #IneffableValentines2020 prompt 14

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Miele_Petite](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miele_Petite/gifts).



Aziraphale was covered in dust, hot, sweaty and tired. He’d been packing up books into boxes for the removals lorry all day and wanted nothing more than a nice shower and a snuggle with his favourite demon. They’d already packed up most of the bookshop stuff for sending down to the cottage, including all the furniture, and they were leaving Crowley’s flat till last to pack up.

He taped one more box shut then called it a day. He set off on the short walk over to Mayfair back to the flat to clean up. They’d probably order something nice in for dinner, then relax on the sofa. He unlocked the door with a wave. The flat recognised him as an occupant now and was never locked to him, it accepted him as part of the place as much as Crowley was. He stepped into the cool, calm entryway of their apartment. It was unusually quiet.

He flicked the kettle on and ambled about, expecting to find Crowley perhaps asleep, but the place was empty. Returning to the kitchen however, he found a handwritten note from Crowley, explaining that he’d driven a load down to the cottage earlier in the day and would be back later that night. He’d left some food in the fridge for Aziraphale to pop in the microwave for dinner.

Aziraphale sighed, brewed some tea and had a cuppa before going for a shower. Afterwards, at a loss for what to do, when his plans for cuddling up with Crowley had been delayed, he cast his eye about the apartment to see what else he could do to occupy his time.

His gaze fell on a pile of flat packed boxes ready to assemble to begin loading up the contents of the place later, and thought he might as well make a start on some of the less essential items. There was a large roll of bubble wrap, scissors, marker pen, and a tape gun all ready, so he began to assemble boxes and looked for things to put in them. At least Crowley’s place was impeccably clean and dust-free compared to the bookshop, and he could take his time, doing a little here and there, pottering about.

He wandered into the study. The marble desk was going to be one hell of a thing to shift when it came to moving the furniture, he thought. The phone and answerphone would have to wait until later. He glanced at the small ornate box on the table. He thought maybe he could pack that away. He’d never looked inside it, but supposed it held pens and the usual desk clutter that Crowley didn’t want messing up his tidy workspace.

Aziraphale reached out to lift the lid and felt the crackle of demonic power at his fingertips. He startled back, although it hadn’t hurt, it was just a surprise. He eyed the box warily. He suddenly doubted that there was anything as mundane as pens, paperclips and pencil erasers in there. He sat down in the throne slowly and considered the ornate little casket more carefully.

He reached out again, tentatively, and felt a peculiar aura of some sort around the little box. He reached further until his fingertips brushed the aura again, he felt a crackling like static, and the hairs on the back of his hand stood up, but it didn’t bite out at him, metaphorically speaking. He laid his fingers on the smooth lid. It buzzed slightly under his touch, but nothing more.

Experimentally, he lifted the lid. It opened for him as easily as the front door had done. He rather suspected that this wouldn’t have been the case if Crowley hadn’t performed an arbitrary “what’s mine is his” miracle on the entire apartment when he moved in. He looked inside. It was empty.

Well, empty wasn’t quite correct. It was devoid of anything except, well… a void. A seemingly infinite void. That was unusual.

But Aziraphale put two and two together. This was clearly some demonic miracle, a convenient infinite safe, far more secure under normal circumstances than any mundane strong box. It would likely be a portal more than it was a container, a place to store anything that Crowley wished, he only needed to draw it forth. The question was, what was in there, and how could he draw it forth? Should he just stick his hand in and rummage about to see if anything leapt into his fingers?

He shuddered, the thought of putting his hand in an unseen and possibly demonic dimension without knowing what was there seemed foolhardy at best. It could be a trap for all he knew, although surely Crowley would have warned him if that were the case? He would never want his angel to be hurt by accident. He had an idea.

He placed his hand above the open box. “Give me whatever Crowley placed in here last.” It was worth a try. There tended to be some kind of formula to such things.

Nothing happened.

He pursed his lips and thought for a moment. Maybe it needed a little push? He tried again, but this time he pushed forward a little angelic power with the request. His fingers tingled. A piece of paper appeared in his hand. He unfolded it.

It was a receipt, from their meal at the Ritz after the body swap. Crowley had paid, naturally. So far, so mundane. If the rest of this was receipts, then Crowley had somehow discovered the least interesting use for an infinite magic box of all time.

He tried again, and another, rather larger piece of paper appeared in his hand. It was a drawing, done in crayon. It featured a tall, skinny stick figure dressed in black, with dark glasses and red hair tied up in a bun. Next to it was a smaller stick figure in shorts, they stood on a simple scribbled green lawn with a blue sky. There was a yellow sun in the corner. It read, in wobbly handwriting. “I love my Nanny” and was signed “Warlock”

He tried a third time, and this time it was a newspaper clipping from a little while ago. “Mysterious benefactor donates £700,000 to local centre supporting LGBTQIA youth. Amanda Rayford, who runs the Brixton Rainbow Centre, said that the money had been left in a large briefcase in their lobby, only found at the end of the day on Thursday when cleaning up. The note in the briefcase stated that the funds were to be used to help mentor and provide counselling for marginalised youths who faced difficulties at home. There was no name, and the only identifying mark was a small gold “AJC” monogram on the leather briefcase.” Miss Rayford, 32, was thrilled at the discovery and would like to extend her thanks to whoever made the substantial donation, and would like to assure them that it will go a long way to helping them extend their outreach and support programmes across impoverished London areas.”

Aziraphale sat back. He looked at the date. He recalled Crowley having a run in with some mobsters in East London about that time, and some robbery gone wrong shenanigans. He wondered what a demon might do when suddenly landed with a few hundred thousand in ill-gotten gains heisted from shady criminals. Now he knew.

He looked at the box, then reached out to it again. “Show me the things that are most important to Crowley” he tried.

An envelope pushed its way out of the box, then another, and another, and another, then several at once, then a veritable flurry of them. “Stop!” he yelled, and the flow of paper ceased abruptly. He should have specified one by one.

He picked up the first. A plain envelope with a card inside. There was no name on it, just the letter “A.” It wasn’t sealed. He opened it. It was a valentine’s card. Inside was written, in Crowley’s characteristic scrawl. “There are a million ways to tell you that I love you, but I’m not allowed to say any of them. I’m yours, forever.”

He picked another from the random pile. Some newer than others. Several were yellowed with age. He picked out one in a red envelope, it looked a couple of decades old by its style. “Every day I want to show you how much I love you, even if I can never speak the words. You are my world.”

He selected an older looking one. This one had a date: 14th February 1905. “Love holds me firm in its grip, a stranglehold on my heart whilst duty has its stranglehold on my throat. You will never see these words until the end of time has come and gone, but know that I have loved you for every hour of eternity.”

Aziraphale riffled through more of the cards. Each one held similar sentiments. “My love for you burns a fire in my heart yet more fierce than the very fires of hell, and consumes my soul every day that I gaze upon your beautiful countenance, your clear blue eyes, your angelic hair, and your lips made for sin. I burn inside for you, and will do until the stars turn dark.” That one was a particularly old card, the envelope almost crumbling to dust.

A more recent one: “I long to kiss your lips, Angel, to hold you tight against me, to push the world away and take you with me, somewhere we can be together forever. You will never know just how much I need you.”

None were crude, none were flippant, sarcastic or joking. Each one burned with a sincerity that brought tears to Aziraphale’s eyes. He continued to read, determined to take them all in. It looked like Crowley had been writing them more or less since the tradition began, at least the years that he’d been awake for anyway. Writing each one, addressing them only to “A”, and placing them away in the box, sending his messages out into nowhere, the only way he could safely express his love in words, even if he could never show them. He read through several more, heedless of the day turning to night outside.

He didn’t even hear Crowley come in until a gentle hand fell on his shoulder, making him jump.

“You found them.”

Aziraphale looked up into Crowley’s beautiful features, a little apprehensive and surprised. Crowley had never looked so soft. “I forgot about the box. It didn’t occur to me that you’d ever see them.”

“Are you angry with me?”

Crowley smiled and kissed Aziraphale’s forehead gently. “Never.”

He paused and leafed through a few of the cards himself, smiling at one or two, perhaps cringing slightly at a couple. “I don’t know if I ever thought I should share them with you or not, at least you didn’t find them before you kissed me, I’d probably have died of embarrassment if you had. Then again, the box wouldn’t have opened for you before anyway.”

Aziraphale nodded at the box. “Clever trick.”

Crowley grinned. “It’s bigger on the inside.”

He laid a hand on Aziraphale’s and squeezed gently. “Well now I suppose you know, anyway.”

Aziraphale pulled Crowley into his lap where he sat on the throne and kissed him tenderly. “I knew already, my darling. I love you, and I know you always have, too.”

Crowley smiled, a hint of tears welling in his eyes. “Yes, I’ve loved you forever, Angel.” He kissed Aziraphale back, his hand warm on the angel’s cheek. He lifted off and gazed into his eyes. “Will you be my valentine?”

“Of course, my love.”

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End file.
